Thursday March 21st
by Xeia
Summary: BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND! How does Charlie cope in a life or death situation? Especially when it's not only his life at stake...
1. At The Bank

Hey guys! My first numb3rs fanfic, so please be nice and review!

Summary: Charlie-hero fic! How does Charlie cope when he must rely on only himself in a life-or-death situation – and it's not only his life at stake?

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_Thursday March 21st_

_4:52p.m._

"I still don't know why you dragged me along." Charlie Eppes looked up into the bored face of his older brother. Don had his arms crossed and was tapping his foot impatiently on the marble floor.

"Hey, I said you could wait in the car. It shouldn't be too much longer" said Charlie, looking at the dozen or so people in line in front of him. 12 people multiplied by a minimum of 5 minutes with the teller… wow, maybe they should just leave. But then again, he had already been waiting for 20 minutes.

"Why you can't do your banking on the internet like a normal person?"

"Don, do you know the statistics for identity theft and credit card fraud from internet transactions? The amount stolen annually alone could more than finance-"

"Okay!" Don cut him off quickly, raising his arms in submission. "Okay. Don't worry Charlie, I don't mind waiting with you. You never know, at the rate we're going Dad might have dinner waiting for us by the time we get there"

The person at the head of the line finished with the teller and left, shoes squeaking into the hushed atmosphere of the bank. Now there were only 11 people in front of him. Charlie sighed – he didn't really feel like waiting, especially with a restless brother in tow. He half-decided that he would come back tomorrow…

The front door swung open with a huge crash. Charlie's head jerked up and Don spun around, as a man with a thick balaclava over his face and a very big, very black, very deadly looking gun ran into the lobby of the Joseph Bank. Before Charlie even had time to think, to react, the man had raised the weapon into the air and fired.

The sound was deafening. Several people screamed and fine dust and plaster from the ceiling showered down on several people in the line.

"Everybody on the floor! Face down!" there was another cry and a soft moan. "Do it! NOW!" Charlie stood frozen, his mind blank with shock, until he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him to the floor. Don had his eyes fixed on the gunman, his hand moving slowly to the holster at his hip, as he knelt.

"You!" The gunman pointed to the terrified teller. "Empty the registers." he tossed her an empty black bag. All this time he kept his gun trained on the people lying flat on the floor of the bank.

Charlie could feel his heart pounding in his chest, resonating against the cold, hard floor. He turned to look at Don, eyes desperately seeking something solid and familiar. He felt like he was in a nightmare.

Don was right beside him. He pressed Charlie's shoulder, giving it a little shake. "It'll be okay, Charlie" he whispered, giving Charlie a quick, reassuring glance before looking back at the gunman. Charlie knew Don was waiting for an opportunity, to take the gunman out, all his FBI instincts had kicked in… he felt his stomach tighten as the uncertainty of the immediate future dawned on him. Maths and statistics had absolutely no use at all in a crowded bank with a volatile gunman.

Suddenly, the girl behind the counter dropped the bag, already three quarters full of cash, with a loud thud, and the gunman turned his head, momentarily distracted. Don seized his chance and leapt to his feet, purposefully taking several steps away from Charlie as he ran towards the gunman, yelling "FBI, freeze!" Charlie half-raised his head off the floor, but a sickening explosion directly above him caused him to duck, adrenaline surging.

Charlie watched, horrified, time slowing down to a fraction of its usual value._ There was a second gunman_! He saw Don half-turn at the sound from behind him. Saw his eyes widen, as a split second later an invisible force sent him reeling backwards, his face contorted in pain. He saw Don fall, arcing through the air, to land with a soft thud, his gun spinning out of his hands across the marble floor. Watched him writhe in pain, then go suddenly, horribly still, as a creeping scarlet stain spread across his chest, dripping onto the cold floor.


	2. 911

Sorry about the slight delay guys! I have my HSC in like 6 weeks, so I can't update as often as I'd like, but I promise that I will update as soon as possible

Thanks to all you great reviewers -you guys are the best!

Chapter 2 – please review!

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With a cry, Charlie jumped to his feet. He forgot about the two men, with their balaclavas and their powerful guns, forgot the danger he was in, forgot he had been ordered to stay face down on the floor. He saw only Don, Don bleeding… but he had only taken two steps towards Don's prone form when the second gunman, the same bastard who had shot Don, fired his gun into the ceiling, with a deafening crash, bellowing "FREEZE!"

Screams echoed from the other hostages, still face down on the floor, and Charlie froze, his arms up, giving Don an agonised glance… he was only metres away.

The gunman advanced on Charlie, the muzzle of his weapon focussed squarely on Charlie's heart. Charlie didn't think he'd ever been more terrified, but his voice, when he spoke, was firm and soothing.

"Please... I just want to get to my brother. That's all, just let me go to him"

The gunman raised his weapon, releasing the safety catch, his mouth shaping into a grotesque smile under the wool of the balaclava.

Charlie's salvation came in the shape of the original gunman, who was now instructing the teller to empty the ATM. He noticed the altercation taking place in front of him, and yelled, "leave it, Steve, you trigger-happy moron! We need to get this done, NOW!" Steve held Charlie's gaze for one more minute, animosity burning in his eyes. Then, in disgust, he spat at Don, before stomping away.

His mind curiously blank, Charlie mechanically walked to Don, knelt – he could scarcely believe it, felt cold and yet his cheeks burned. That guy… Steve… he would have killed him. Charlie knew he had stared death in the face. He had had cause to ponder death before, was aware of his own mortality – hell, his mother had died only a year ago. But death was very different when it was an abstract concept 50 years in the future, to the reality of a bullet in a chamber right in front of you. The thought made him feel slightly sick.

He felt sicker when he looked down at Don. He lay face down on the floor, his eyes closed. His arms and legs were splayed at strange angles, and his right shoulder was a bloody mess of shattered flesh. Charlie's heart sank, when he realised just how much blood there was. The floor was slick with it, and Charlie realised with horror that it was soaking into the knees of his jeans… he could feel it against his skin, cold and wet. Don's shirt was soaked in it. It was everywhere, a slowly spreading pool that advanced across the sterile white marble.

With trembling hands, Charlie placed his shaky fingers against Don's neck, searching for a pulse. For a few seconds he felt nothing, and his stomach, instead of sinking, vanished completely… he suddenly felt icy cold… but then, miraculously, a feeble throb under his hands.

Charlie gave a shuddering sigh, closing his eyes in relief. Don was alive! He hadn't realised how afraid he was, had refused to admit the possibility that nonetheless screamed at him… now he was aware that he was shaking, as the adrenaline, the fear slowly ebbed. Gently, he turned Don over.

What he saw made him want to cry.

A second angry wound, worse than the shoulder wound, blossomed on the left side of Don's chest. The bullet must have passed completely through Don's body, Charlie realised with dismay… he tried not think how many vital organs it must have passed through.

One was clearly obvious. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Don's mouth, and the wound on Don's chest made a strange, soft, whistling, sucking noise. Don's lung was punctured.

Suddenly, Don gave a cough, and a spatter of red drops stained Charlie's shirt. His eyes flicked open, and gazed at the ceiling.

"Don?" Charlie's voice was barely a whisper, but at its sound Don's wandering gaze fell on Charlie's face. "Don? Its Charlie…"

Charlie was unprepared for the look he saw in Don's eyes. First he saw recognition blossom, relief… then fear. Don gave another cough, and his hand sought Charlie's, gripped it tightly. "It's okay, Don…" Charlie tried to keep the fear out of his voice, forced down the sob that rose in his chest "you'll be okay…" Don's eyes fluttered closed, and his hand went limp in Charlie's.

More to himself than Don, Charlie whispered, "I'll get you out…" He sat cross-legged and dragged Don into his lap, pulling off his own jacket. This he pressed down on Don's wounds, a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. As he did this, he felt something hard pressing into his knee, and pulled it out.

It was Don's mobile phone.

He gave a fearful glance at Steve, and his friend. They had emptied three of the ATMs into black garbage bags and were onto the fourth, their attention focussed. It had been 10 minutes since they entered the bank, and no help had come… Charlie guessed the teller had not tripped the silent alarm, which should alert the police.

With trembling fingers, he dialled:

9 – 1 – 1

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P.S. Again, I love reviews! If you have any advice or constructive criticism, I'd love that to, its really helpful to decide how to write the next chapter

Thanks!


	3. Sirens

Hey guys! Again thanks SOO MUCH for the reviews. They really make my day!

Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but I've pretty much written the next one so it should be up soon. Enjoy!

Chapter 3 – Read and review please!

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Leaving the phone on the floor, Charlie hunched over it, making it look as though he simply had his head down. He didn't think he'd been more nervous in his life, the thought of what would happen to him if he was caught sending chills down his spine. He felt the drops of perspiration trickle down his neck, as he heard the phone at the other end ring. Once, twice…

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?"

The voice seemed impossibly loud in the hushed atmosphere of the bank. Quickly smothering the handset with his jacket he gave several loud, fake coughs, glancing fearfully over his shoulder. A man nearby, still hunched up on the floor, had looked up in alarm at the noise, but Steve and his mate were still busy emptying he fourth ATM, and didn't seem to notice. Charlie let out his breath, relieved.

The nearby man gave him a wink, nodding encouragingly.

Heartened, Charlie uncovered the phone, bent his head down so his mouth was right over the mouthpiece, and whispered:

"My name's Charlie Eppes, I'm in the Joseph Bank, on the corner of Grange and Northern Streets. Two men with guns are holding me and the other customers hostage, and stealing all the money. My brother…" here Charlie stopped, swallowed, and drew a ragged breath before continuing. "My brother's been shot. He's… it's bad. He's an FBI agent."

Charlie didn't know what else to say, but the kind voice on the other end whispered back, "It's okay sir, full emergency response on its way, you hold tight. What's your name?"

"Charlie"

"Charlie, I'm not going to speak to you again for a while, but can you stay on the line? When the response team arrives at the bank, I'll transfer you to the agent in charge"

"Okay"

Charlie slid the phone further out of sight, under the folds of his jacket, to hide the brightly lit screen which indicated an active call. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the thieves were on to the last ATM. He wondered if he had done the right thing calling the police… maybe when they were done, Steve and his friend would simply walk out. But the ruthlessness that Steve had shown to Charlie and Don, the cavalier way in which they had revealed their names… Charlie felt distinctly uneasy.

He looked down at Don, and was startled to see that Don was looking back at him.

"Don!"

"Good… job…" Don rasped, the effort obviously causing him pain. "They'll catch… the bastards…" he coughed, and kept coughing, violent spasms racking his body. Between every wheeze, he took great gasping breaths, like a drowning man whose head breaks the surface.

"Don! Don, Don, its okay, just breathe, its okay…" but Charlie knew it wasn't okay, and the panic in him rose, choking him It was unbearable, seeing Don suffer, seeing anyone in so much pain. He grabbed Don's flailing hand, and held it tightly.

Don's eyes were misting over again, but he squeezed Charlie's hand, pulling him down.

"You… be… careful…" then Don's eyes slid shut, as he once again descended into unconsciousness.

Charlie stared down at Don's limp form, shattered.

Then a steadily increasing noise pierced his consciousness. He looked up, saw other heads rise, saw Steve and the other guy pause – they had emptied all six ATMs and the cash registers, and were preparing to leave. Charlie noted with a jolt that Steve had been loading more ammunition into his gun. But now he was frozen, staring out the window, listening.

It was the sound of many sirens, encircling the bank


	4. Shootout

Thanks reviewers! To those who asked don't kill Don… sorry can't promise anything (snicker) – no, just kidding. But stay tuned! Much more angst to come.

Pretty please review! Suggestions and constructive criticism welcomed

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In an instant, the two gunmen had seized as many bags as they could carry, and took off for the front door. As he ran, Steve turned and fired several rounds off into the atmosphere, not aiming particularly but arresting any thoughts of getting up, of running, from the hostages. They lay huddled on the floor, too scared to move. Charlie, near the door, had the best chance of escape – but Don wasn't going anywhere, so neither was Charlie. He had a good view of the door, and watched as the two thieves reached the glass entrance doors, yanking them open.

The second the doors were open a fierce gun battle erupted. Within seconds, several rounds had shattered the glass doors, and shards of glass scattered across the marble floor with a loud, tinkling sound. Several screams echoed from the hostages, as another fierce burst of gunfire sounded. The two thieves were retreating back towards the bank under a hail of bullets, when Steve reached out and grabbed the young teller, who was hunched in the corner beside the doorframe, shielding her head with her arms. She gave a despairing cry, as Steve shoved her in front of him, creating a human shield. He pressed the gun to her temple.

Instantly the gunfire from outside stopped. The two men backed slowly through the shattered remains of the bank's glass fascade. The bags of money lay abandoned in the piazza in front of the bank.

"You!" Steve's friend pointed at two men huddled near the counter. "Pick up those tables in the office and put them in front of the doors. No funny business, or Steve shoots her!" The teller couldn't have been more than twenty-one. She had tears running down her cheeks, and her face was screwed up in fear and pain. Steve had his arm tight around her neck, and she grabbed at it, trying to free herself. Steve didn't even seem to notice.

The two men slowly got to their feet, with a nervous glance at Steve. Charlie was half afraid they would make a run for it, and the teller would get shot. But the two men opened the door of the office, and then stepped back, gasping with shock. Charlie could see through the doorway, and felt his stomach drop. The bank manager was slumped over on his desk. A round bullet hole was clearly visible in the centre of his forehead.

"DO IT!" Steve's friend was starting to look unhinged. He cocked his own weapon, pointing it at the two men, who quickly ran in and grabbed the empty desk from the room. The fear was clearly evident in their eyes as they approached the empty doorframes. Charlie didn't blame them. The police might mistake them for the thieves, and shoot them on sight.

But nothing happened. They wedged the desk up in one of the empty spaces then returned for the other desk, gingerly easing it from underneath the body of the manager. Once it to was in place, Steve's friend ordered them down onto the floor, and then Steve let the teller go with a shove. She stumbled away, and sank down against the wall, trembling visibly.

Charlie felt shaken, and as the shock and adrenaline ebbed away he felt shivery and weak. He looked down at Don, who was awake again.

"S'okay… Charlie…" Don's speech was faint and ragged, but his eyes were clear.

Charlie nodded.

Now Steve and the other robber engaged in an earnest discussion, muttering quietly to each other. Their voices were soft, but they were so close to Charlie he could hear every word they were saying. He bowed his head, listening with all his might.

"What happens now, Mitch? We can't do the getaway we planned…"

"They'll call, we'll start negotiations."

"Can we get out of this?"

"There's always the hostages – that's our trump card. They aren't going to put them in unnecessary danger; they might even let us get away to avoid us hurting them. We need to show them we mean business"

Steve nodded, and then grinned wickedly. "I know just the thing"

He stepped forward, surveying the hostages, who stared at him warily, or looked away. His gaze fell on Charlie, eyes lighting up.

"You."


	5. Please Run

Thanks reviewers. I really appreciate the effort and time you guys take to review; it makes my day much happier!

As to this story: I think I am about 2/3rds of the way through (and really enjoying it too!) I've written the majority of the remainder, so my posts should be slightly more frequent.

Please keep reading!

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Charlie's stomach dropped, and he looked down at Don, who was wearing expression of horror that Charlie felt must mirror his own. He kept his eyes averted, as Steve approached him.

"I want you to drag him," he said, pointing at the dead manager "out onto the forecourt".

Charlie didn't move, paralysed by fear and indecision, as thoughts clamoured in his mind. _What about Don what if I get shot I can't leave Don what about the phone Don might bleed to death why'd you pick me…_

Steve poked him hard in the shoulder with the muzzle of the gun, and fear instantly turned to anger. Charlie shot Steve a look of pure fury, not moving.

"If you don't, or if you try anything" Steve smiled "I'll shoot him. And this time I won't miss."

He turned the gun on Don.

Charlie instantly began to scramble to his feet, but Don grabbed at him feebly. When Charlie looked down at him, he saw that Don was afraid, his eyes dark.

"When you get out," Don croaked softly, his voice raspy and hollow as though from the bottom of a well. He paused for breath.

"Run away".

"He'll shoot you!" Charlie whispered fiercely, brows furrowing in anger. Steve poked him again, with more force this time, and Charlie slowly climbed to his feet, easing his hands off the wound in Don's chest. He only hoped that the bleeding had slowed. As he stood looking down at Don, Don mouthed at him again, his face ashen, his eyes imploring.

Please… run…

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_Don lay on the cold floor, racked with pain, watching as Charlie dragged the heavy weight of the dead bank manager across. If he had had the energy, he would have begged Charlie to take the opportunity, to run away without a backward glance. But even those few words he had barely been able to speak, had completely drained him. All his focus now was on the increasingly arduous task of breathing. It was something he had to remember to do, every breath causing jabbing pains throughout his body._

_Charlie was struggling with the dead weight. Don willed Charlie with all his might, to run. But he knew deep down that Charlie would never leave him, and this thought made him afraid. Charlie must survive. His dad would need someone, after…_

_And that jerk… Steve or whatever… had said he would shoot Don. If he could have, Don would have snorted. Save your ammunition, mate._

_Don didn't think it would make much difference. A deep, pervasive cold had started invading him, beginning with his limbs. It had spread all the way down to the core of his body. He dimly thought,_ that's shock_, but he was having trouble processing the thoughts. He felt, now, that it would not be long…_

_Which was why Charlie had to take this chance. To get away, now. A persistent little voice in Don's head, said_ Charlie, danger, get away! _He gingerly turned his head. He could see Charlie, arms upraised, no doubt in the target of several snipers. He felt his throat close over._

_Don Eppes was not a religious man, but at this moment he prayed._

Please… let him be safe

_It was harder to breathe, now. Don focussed his whole energy on it, in and out, in and out. The pain was dissipating. As he concentrated on the flow of air into his lungs, he repeated it like a mantra in his mind._

Let him be safe let him be safe let him be safe let him be safe…


	6. Steve

New chapter! Please review!

P.S. Sorry for the shortness of these chapters, but I'll try and update quickly to make up for it!

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_Steve stood against the desk, idly surveying the hostages, gun at the ready. He had left Mitch in the back office, where he was working out their next move. Steve wasn't too worried, he had great faith in Mitch. Mitch was a thinker. Mitch had planned this whole thing, worked out the fine details, and given Steve the job of watching his back. Steve felt smug – he had done that, and done it well. Even Mitch couldn't have predicted an off-duty FBI agent in the bank. But Steve had dealt with that problem._

_He looked over at the FBI agent. He felt slightly ashamed – he had gone for the kill, but his aim had been kind of off. Steve was relieved that none of his shooting buddies were here to notice his poor shot. Except Mitch, and Mitch was above these things. Still, he thought, grinning inwardly – even if he had missed his target, the agent didn't look like he had much life left in him._

_Steve surveyed the scene with a certain satisfaction. It wasn't often you got the chance to take someone out, and he enjoyed the thrill. He admired his handiwork, as a craftsman might admire his creations, with pride and self-love._

_The agent's eyes were open, and he was gazing blankly at the ceiling. Steve would have thought he was dead, except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, and the rasping echoes of his breaths. In the quiet bank, the sound was startlingly loud._

_That young guy was hunched over him, hands pressed down on the chest wound. Steve's lip curled as his gaze fell on him – stupid little jerk, mouthing off, talking to Steve like he was some fool. Still, Steve felt slightly mollified – his brother would die from the look of it. Sucked in! He had enjoyed making him drag out that body. Watched him gingerly grasp the man's ankle, the fear and disgust plain on his face. Watched him struggle (the manager was rather fat, Steve sniggered inwardly). Watched him slowly back onto the forcourt, clearly afraid. Steve enjoyed fear._

_Nothing much had gone down thought. The cops had beckoned to him, trying to make him leave the bank, and Steve had willed him to do it. He would have dearly loved to finish off the FBI agent._

_But the asshole had come back. Steve studied him. He was youngish, with dark curly hair, and at this moment looked incredibly pale. Steve noted the fear and distress on his features, pleased. Maybe before they left, Mitch would let him shoot this one, too._

_The guy was muttering away, Steve assumed, to his brother. However… something was wrong._

_Steve noticed the way his eyes darted around the room. The way he seemed to be listening. The way that, as he spoke, he looked not at his brother but at a spot somewhere beside his knee._

_Something was up._

_Pulse quickening, Steve casually, quietly walked around the room among the hostages. Some were silent, eyes closed, curled up as though to present the smallest possible target. One woman was praying, her mutters creating a dull hum that echoed round the room. A couple lay beside each other, holding hands, eyeing him watchfully._

_Steve took no notice. Softly creeping up behind the curly-headed guy, he looked over his shoulder._

The jerk was using a bloody mobile phone!


	7. Charlie

_Okay guys, I just want to say how incredibly sorry I am that I haven't updated for 3 months. I had like 6 weeks of exams, and when I finished I kind of lost my inspiration… also, although I have written up to the second last chapter I didn't realise that I hadn't posted them! I have written the next three chapters, which will come up over the next few days. The final chapter shouldn't be long after that. Finally, I am just so sorry that I haven't updated, and I want to thank everyone that reviewed and read this story. You guys rule!_

_P.S. Sorry about short chapter. Will post next one tomorrow!_

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Charlie was rather relieved to get back inside the bank, if truth were told. He had been scared that he would get mistaken for Mitch or Steve, and one of the snipers would take him out. And then, as he had dragged the body out, hundreds of eyes were on him – police, fire fighters, emergency personnel. They had all called out to him, asking him questions, beckoning him towards the safety of the street. But Charlie had felt too disorientated to answer, overwhelmed by the scale of the situation. He had simply stammered that this was a warning, before retreating hastily back towards the (relative) safety of the bank.

Now he was again kneeling by Don, who had descended into some kind of daze. His eyes were open, but he didn't respond to Charlie's voice, didn't react when Charlie touched him gently on the arm. Charlie felt the fear and dread in him start to rise again. He watched Don's chest rise and fall, drawing comfort from its even rhythm.

And then there was the crackling on the phone. It had seemed impossibly loud, but Steve seemed lost in thought. Charlie noticed rather ruefully that his gun was still firmly trained on all the hostages. He bent his head down, whispered into the phone

"This is Charlie. Please, be quiet!"

And then another voice, deep and reassuring, whispered back:

"This is Agent Roddick, the agent in charge. I need your help, Charlie. Can you tell me how many people are in the bank?"

"Thirteen" Charlie responded instantly, he had counted them enough times "plus the two thieves, Steve and Mitch"

"Any surnames for Steve or Mitch?"

"Sorry, no."

"That's fine Charlie. I'm told that you said your brother was an FBI agent, and he was shot. What's his name?"

"Don Eppes." Charlie's voice cracked.

"Not Don!" The voice increased in volume and Charlie nervously smothered it with his jacket.

"Sorry." The voice was hushed again "I'm sorry, Don's a good friend of mine. Um, can you… is… um, is anyone else injured?" Roddick seemed to have lost his train of thought.

"No" Charlie began. But that was as far as he got. Because the next second, a sharp blow caused the side of his head to explode with pain as stars scattered across his vision.


	8. Don's Gun

The room span, and Charlie lurched dizzily from side to side, trying desperately to maintain his grip on reality. He dimly felt a warm trickle of blood slide down behind his ear and onto his collar, as the room gradually came into focus,

He was staring at the muzzle of Steve's gun, trained squarely on Charlie's forehead.

Steve was livid with rage, the veins in his neck bulging. He knelt and grabbed the phone, simultaneously bellowing "MITCH! Get in here NOW!"

Mitch came running in from the office. He seemed pale and stressed, but these human characteristics were overshadowed by the coldness of his expression. He had the look of a man slightly deranged.

"This _shit_" Steve spat "was talking to someone on _this."_ Steve shoved the phone at Mitch without looking, keeping his gun trained on Charlie. Charlie could tell he was itching to pull the trigger, but he felt no fear, only the blankness he expected preceded absolute terror. His hands scrabbled underneath Don's jacket, he knew he had hidden it there…

Don's gun. Don's gun, which Charlie had absently picked up when no-one was looking – it had been lying where Don dropped it, forgotten by all but Charlie. He hated guns, but something had told him that it might come in handy.

There! He felt his hand close over cool metal.

Mitch raised the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Mitch? This is Agent Roddick."

Mitch nodded, then turned to Steve. "Shoot him" he said, pointing at Charlie.

Steve smiled. "Gladly." He cocked his weapon, and Charlie felt his stomach lurch.

He heard a loud bang, shouts of "Go, go, go!" as the SWAT team bashed down the doors. But Charlie only had eyes for Steve. In the second before Steve pulled the trigger, Charlie swung his arm up and fired.

One round from Don's service revolver.

It struck Steve in the leg, and he bellowed in pain, falling to the floor and clutching at his shins. Mitch raised his weapon as if to fire, but a second later a bullet from the SWAT guns caught him full in the chest and he fell crashing to the floor.

In seconds there seemed to be hundreds of police in the bank, running in and placing cuffs on Steve, who was still yelling in agony. Charlie felt no pity for him at all. He turned back to Don, and gasped.

Don's skin was turning faintly blue. As Charlie watched, he saw Don's chest rise… fall… rise… fall… fall…

Then nothing.

"DON!"

Charlie crawled to Don's side. The veins on Don's neck were sticking out, looking like thick, knotted cords, and he was gasping and choking, trying desperately to draw a breath. When he looked at Charlie, there was panic in his eyes, and his hands were clenching and unclenching.

Don couldn't breathe.

"HELP!" Charlie screamed, turning to the paramedics who were now swarming into the bank.

In seconds they had descended in Don, and Charlie was unceremoniously shoved aside. He crawled to his feet, watching, horrified, as tube were shoved down Don's throat, as he was injected and his shirt ripped open to expose the angry wound that had almost destroyed one side of his chest. For Charlie time seemed to slow down, and all sound faded away, as he tried to deal with this.

_Don's dying, right in front of me_

He couldn't believe, wouldn't believe it – at that moment his most fervent desire was to wake up from this nightmare…

Don was on a stretcher now, and the medics began to rush him out of the room, still yelling things to each other that were meaningless to Charlie. He tried to follow, asked if he could go in the ambulance, but received only a terse reply of "no room" before Don was loaded into the back. The doors banged shut in his face, and he watched the ambulance containing his brother speed away, sirens wailing.

He felt lost.

I gentle touch on the arm made him jump, and a kind voice said, "you're bleeding. Let me take a look at that". It was another young medic, and her gloved fingers gently probed the side of his head. He tried to wave her away, "I have to get to the hospital" he said pleadingly, "my brother…" She looked at him, and then glanced down the road in the direction the ambulance had left. She placed a hand on his "let me check you out, and then I'll drive you straight there. Okay?"

Charlie nodded.


End file.
